If You Don't Sleep
by detective-sweetheart
Summary: You can't have nightmares if you don't close your eyes.


**A/N: Somewhat of a post-ep for Wrong is Right if you look. SVU's not mine. **

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The thing about work and home life is that they're not supposed to mix.

And the problem with this is that they do, every now and then, and he knows they do, because he's just seen it happen. It's what he gets for taking that route home, just because it was the shortest way to get back. But it had been late, and he hadn't wanted to be out any longer than he'd had to be, so that was the way they had gone. And this was what had happened.

You can't have nightmares if you don't sleep, Maureen had told him.

Another comment she made that night, though, caught Elliot's attention and continued to hold it, even though the case is closed, and they've nailed the one who drove the kid in this case to kill his so-called 'guardian'. How often d'you talk to your friends, he'd asked, and Maureen had looked at him while going about her self-appointed task of making a sandwich. More than you talk to Mom, she'd replied.

He wonders when she started to notice this and doesn't really want to know.

But then, he couldn't expect her to stay a child forever, and honestly, he doesn't. She's fifteen, a sophomore in high school, and she knows a lot more than he'd like to think she knows. Apparently, this little comment of hers indicates that his lack of talking is one of those things. Not something that settles well with him. He pops the tab on a can of soda, because he doesn't want to drink anything stronger, and takes a sip as he mulls this over.

It is eleven-thirty at night, and he knows that sleep isn't coming anytime soon.

"You know, she's starting to turn into a night owl, too."

He jumps. Somewhere along the lines, Kathy has come down the stairs, and he didn't hear it. Thinking is driving him to the point of distraction, and he doesn't like it.

"She told me she can't have nightmares if she doesn't sleep," he replies, sitting up, because he'd been leaning forward. "Have you seen her sleeping?"

Kathy shakes her head and wanders over to the fridge, pulling out the milk and reaching up into the cupboard for a glass. "No," she says. "I haven't. I'd like to know how she's making it through school, but I almost don't want to ask."

"Maybe one of her friends knows," Elliot remarks, wryly, more to himself than to Kathy, who looks at him for a moment, as if she knows what he's talking about but at the same time, doesn't.

"I'd say it's likely," she says. "I just…wish she hadn't had to see all of that in the first place."

"So do I."

The problem with work and home life, though is that occasionally, the lines get blurred.

"D'you think it'll ever go away?" Kathy asks, finally, and Elliot has to bite back the sudden desire to laugh, hard enough that he can taste blood on the inside of his mouth and swallows, in an attempt to make the taste disappear. It doesn't.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I don't think it'll go away. It'll fade, somewhat, but it doesn't ever go away completely."

Silence. Kathy appears to be mulling this over, and he doesn't want to say anything, because some part of him wants to know what she's thinking, even if the other part doesn't.

"Is that how it is?" she asks. "With you, I mean. It fades, but it doesn't ever go away?"

A loaded question, and one that he doesn't want to answer. The truth is, for him, it never fades, because he sees it day in and day out. There is no break. There is nothing to take his mind off of things except for home and family, and the line between them and work has just been blurred because of this. And it hurts to know this.

"Yes," he answers, finally, and knows he's lying, and feels guilty because of it, but there is only one other person in this house that will be awake for the rest of the night, and it isn't going to be her. "Every now and then it fades."

He doesn't tell her about waking up in the middle of the night because it really doesn't.

She looks at the clock, a yawn escaping her as she does. "You coming up?" she asks, downing what's left in her glass of milk and looking over at him. He nods.

"Yeah, I'll be up in a minute," he says. She takes him at his word and disappears, up the stairs. He mulls over their conversation for a moment, and over Maureen's comment and decides that it only fits in certain circumstances and this isn't one of those.

When he does go upstairs, he stops first at the room that his two oldest share. They are fast asleep. There is a nightlight on in the corner, and he wants to laugh at this, because ordinarily, it might have been amusing. This time, however, it isn't. He knows it is only on because at the moment, Maureen is somewhat afraid of the dark. But she is completely oblivious to it, her eyes closed, caught in the world of her dreams, whatever they are.

By the time he reaches his own room, Kathy is already half asleep and doesn't notice.

And so he spends the rest of the night drifting in and out of sleep, watching shadows on the ceiling, and the light as it falls over various things in the room, including the two of them.

You can't have nightmares if you don't sleep, he thinks, nor can you see what makes them.


End file.
